It never happened, except that it did
by Spectre-the-Zombie
Summary: 'It never happened' is what she told him. If only it were as easy for her to believe such a lie. ((In which Tasha has some complicated regrets, Troi does some actual counselling, and people try to talk things out like adults.))


Tasha Yar stared at the pale walls of Troi's quarters and tried not to feel anything. She would think only of the wall. She would sit here until the allotted time ran out, still, unmoved, and completely in control.

"Tasha," the empath said, "I know what you're doing."

"I don't know what you mean, councilor," she lied, and went back to staring at the wall. It was not an especially effective tactic, but she wasn't sure what other options there were against a being that could sift through her emotions in the same manner of someone examining, one by one, the contents of a box of chocolates. Sometimes Troi savoured the emotions she sampled, sometimes she was only interested in the unboxing, the understanding, weighing the flavour of one person against another. Tasha hated it. Then, of course, she felt unkind. Troi could not help her Betazoid nature, and worse, she only ever used it to help others with emotional trauma... which Tasha was pretty much the textbook example of.

Schooling her expression, she went back to thinking of the wall.

"You did the same thing last week. I don't think it's a very productive use of these sessions, do you?"

Tasha shrugged. "Guess not."

"Then can you think of a way we can put this time to better use?"

"I show up when scheduled," Tasha said. "Isn't that enough? Maybe I just want to sit with you for a bit."

Troi raised an eyebrow. Tasha didn't need to be an empath to tell the other woman was unconvinced. Folding one hand over the other, Troi leaned back in her seat. "While quiet companionship can help some people, that's not what this is. You're ignoring me. You're ignoring yourself. I don't think that's healthy. For the last two weeks, you've been experiencing a great emotional turmoil, and burying the problem isn't going to make it go away. You should know that."

She did know that. She knew it, and yet it was so much easier to carry on as if nothing had happened and stamp down the treacherous swell of emotion when it threatened to rise. It was a tactic she was familiar with, and one that was natural to fall back on.

"It hasn't interfered with my duties," she pointed out.

"I never said it did," Troi countered. "Outwardly, you're very good at hiding it. Inwardly… I can tell it's eating at you, even if you attempt to suppress it."

Tasha tore her gaze from the wall and let it drop to the floor instead, lips pursed for a moment as she contemplated the best response. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sometimes it's good to talk about things, even when we don't want to. To share a problem. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was important."

Tasha's lips pinched tighter.

_Important_, she said. Tasha didn't want it to be important. She wanted it to be irrelevant, forgettable, something she could bury as if _it never happened_, because that was what she wished. That was better for everyone.

Yet here she was, thinking of walls and pulling on a mask of indifference she had cultivated years ago in a time when emotions were only ever weakness, and she knew that didn't happen for insignificant problems.

Maybe she didn't want to admit it was significant. The moment she did, the weight of it could crush her.

"We've talked about a lot of difficult things before, Tasha," Troi said softly, "there's no judgement here. I just want to help."

There was something so soothing about the way the empath spoke, carefully crafted, alluring. Part of Tasha wanted to just give in. Part of her would rather die. Her teeth bit together hard until she could feel the muscles of her jaw straining, but as she cautiously lifted her eyes to the other woman, Troi was looking back with such concern, such gentle sympathy, and Tasha could never understand _quite_ how she did it, but… but...

"I slept with Data." She said it hurriedly, blurted it really, because that's the only way she could get it out. Then she sat with her hands clasped stiffly over her knees, and she waited.

Troi said nothing.

There was no gasp of shock, no sudden condemnation, only passive silence. Tasha didn't know what she expected, or even what she wanted, but it wasn't the patient stillness Troi was watching her with. The empath was quiet, and the longer she let that soundless void stretch between them the more Tasha felt the need to speak build inside her, overflowing despite every promise she'd made to herself.

"It was during the incident with the Tsiolkovsky virus," she clarified, glancing down at her hands. "I… wouldn't have done it otherwise."

There was another spell of silence. "I see," Troi said slowly. "And this troubles you?"

"No," Tasha said automatically, then she sighed. "Yes. A bit."

Troi gave a comforting smile, and she reached across the coffee table to lay a hand on the tightly wound mess of Tasha's own fingers. "I'm sensing some very strong emotions from you, Tasha, guilt amongst them. Why don't we start with that? Can you tell me why you might be feeling guilty?"

That didn't even feel like it needed answering. It was obvious, so painfully obvious, she didn't understand why Troi insisted on making her say it. "Because it was _Data_. Because I _used_ him."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I wasn't thinking about him, just what I wanted, and… and I told him it was what I _needed_. I told him… and you know how he is, he's always so…"

"Helpful?" the empath suggested.

"Yes." She pulled free of Troi's touch and let her head drop into her hands, digging the heel of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars. Tasha laughed. "God, I told him I _needed_ it, and I don't even know if he could understand what complete bullshit that was…"

Troi went quiet for another moment. "You feel as if you pressured him into something he wouldn't want?"

"How could he? He doesn't feel attraction, doesn't feel desire, doesn't _feel_ anything, the only reason he did any of it was because I asked. I took something from him when he got nothing in return..."

And the sickest part… the ugliest part of all, Tasha thought, was that maybe that was why she had chosen him in the first place. Not a man, but a machine - something safe. He didn't look at her with hungry eyes, with greed… no, she could still remember every part of it, and his expression had only been openly curious, expectant, never challenging her right to dictate the specifics of their encounter or set the pace. Obliging to a fault. Her own self hatred writhed inside her like a twisting animal, clawing at the edges of its cage.

"So you don't think his own decision to participate has any value?" Troi asked.

Tasha closed her eyes again. She wished that darkness would swallow her whole. "He doesn't understand. He's…"

"Innocent?"

After a brief hesitation, she nodded. "Yes."

Silence followed until she heard the shifting of fabric, and looked up to see the empath had resettled herself, crossing one leg over the other and resting an arm over the edge of her seat. A mild frown marked her delicate features, not angry - troubled, perhaps, or was it merely concentration?

"Tasha," she said, still gentle but more firm than she had been, "I understand why you may perceive him that way. And it's true that Data may struggle with social intricacies and lack the darker emotions that can plague humans, but it would be a mistake to infantise him, and not one he'd thank you for. He's been alive almost as long as you have and has a very strong sense of himself, he's very intelligent, and he's more than capable of making his own decisions."

She opened her mouth to retort, but found no answer on her tongue. It felt wrong, somehow, to deny Troi's logic. She clutched instead for something else. "The Tsiolkovsky virus…"

"The virus affected both of you. Look, I've had a lot of new clients these last two weeks. You're not the only one to have done something they regret while under its influence. It's okay to regret it, but you need to forgive yourself."

"It's... not that easy."

The words were pathetically small. They could not encompass everything she wanted to say, everything she _didn't_ want to say, they could only hang in the air in all their flimsiness, and she regretted speaking them at all.

Troi sighed. She tapped a single finger against the edge of the armrest, seemingly in thought. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer, but I think it might be helpful."

Tasha gave a tentative nod.

"Putting aside your moral concerns, was the experience unpleasant?"

Tasha shifted uncomfortably. The memory was still all too vivid, every touch, every taste burned into her brain with cruel precision.

"No," she admitted. "He was very… gentle."

"So, it's not the experience itself that's causing you such distress, it's your worry that you might have wronged Data in some way, and… if I'm not reading too much into it, that your own actions imply that you aren't the person you thought you were."

Troi was watching her intently, far too intently, and Tasha wanted to go back to staring at walls but felt pinned beneath eyes that picked at old wounds with such noble intentions. She swallowed weakly. "Maybe."

"Tasha, listen to me. You were intoxicated, and you did something you normally wouldn't have. That doesn't make you a bad person. It certainly doesn't make you like them," Troi said, and this time her tone was resolute.

She couldn't look at her. Her eyes were hot and stinging, but she stared at the ground, blinking rapidly in defiance. Nails bit into her palms. Her breath felt sharp. Why was it now? Why was it that of all things, this was what threw her over the edge? Tasha choked on her own words, "But I used him."

It was the truth.

It was the truth, and it hurt.

She could drown in it.

There was a ringing in her ears, a pounding in her heart, but beyond it all she was aware of Troi's own breathing, deep and steady. Not speaking. Not demanding. Just breathing, in and out, in a rhythm that was easy to follow. Calming. Tasha could narrow her focus to only that sound, to the rush and flow of air like the tide across the shore, distant but tangible enough to follow, and slowly, in that rhythm, she could piece herself back together.

The power of the moment began to ebb.

She drew her own breath, holding it for a measured count before releasing it with equal care. She wiped her face.

"I used him," she echoed, and although her voice wavered it did not break.

The empath hesitated, but cautiously she rose from the couch and stepped around the coffee table to kneel in front of Tasha. Her movements were deliberate, leaving Tasha all the time in the world to pull away as she took her hands and clasped them between her own, but Tasha didn't resist.

"No, you didn't," Troi told her. "You reached out for something you felt you wanted at the time, and he was willing to go along with it. Your judgement might have been impared. His might have been too. Sometimes these things just happen, and you need to accept that there's not always someone to blame. The Tasha I know is strong, honorable, resilient, and fiercely protective, and none of this changes any of that. If anything, the fact that it troubles you so much is proof. You're a good person."

She let out a huff of air, too short to be a laugh. "I wish I could believe that."

"So do I. And one day, you will…" Troi gave her hands one last comforting squeeze before she let go, straightening up and folding her arms. "As for Data, have you tried talking to him?"

Somehow Tasha doubted her only reference to the event would count as 'talking'. She had spat it out firmly, coldly, and maintained a professional distance ever since. It was the closest she'd been willing to go toward acknowledging it at all.

"I told him it never happened," Tasha said, sinking deeper into her chair. Chancing an upward glance, she could see Troi had set her mouth in a thin line.

"Well," she said, "then I'd suggest you try talking to him again. Rather than just assuming you've done him any wrong, why don't you explain your own perspective, and let him explain his?"

Tasha shook her head slowly. "He won't understand."

"Not if you don't talk to him. He's a fast learner though." The empath smiled, and added wryly, "You only ever have to explain a proverb to him once."

"And then he'll try to use it," Tasha said, before she could stop herself. She wasn't quite sure where the thought came from, but it was true.

Troi's smile only widened. "He will," she said with delight. "And he'll watch everyone to make sure he's got it right!"

There was something uniquely endearing about the android, in watching his earnest attempts as he stumbled his way toward a dream of humanity. Even Riker was developing a fondness for him. And now, Tasha found, despite everything, she was grinning. A weak grin, a ghost of what it should be, but it was there.

Then she remembered what she had done, and the expression fell away.

The memory felt disjointed, juxtaposed - a figure removed from its context. Data didn't belong there. He deserved to be experimenting with colloquialisms, or analysing information from the onboard computer, not pinned to a bed because he was _convenient_. She should never have asked him.

Troi was right about many things, about a lot of this mess, and yet the sense of wrongness would not wash away. The only thing Tasha was certain of was that the wall she'd built between them could not continue. She needed to talk to him.

With another sigh she dragged a hand across her face, wondering distantly about the state of her makeup. "You think he'll forgive me?"

Troi gave one last smile. "I don't think he'll see anything that needs forgiveness. And if that's the case, I think he'd be right."

* * *

It was the turbolift she cornered him in. She could have chosen anywhere, Tasha had in fact contemplated visiting his quarters on more than one occasion but found the idea too… personal. So instead she had run through the next day by routine, counting down her hours on the bridge in mirror to his own.

One mercy was that Data's usual station at ops meant he spent most of his shift facing away from her, so she was spared the guileless stare of his pale yellow eyes. The downside, of course, was that her own station gave her ample opportunity to study the back of his head and his fastidiously tidy hair, knowing exactly how it felt to run her fingers through it. It was… distracting, and unhelpful.

Tasha completed her work on auto-pilot. All that mattered was the time remaining, and clearing up her terminal in preparation for switch over so that, as Data finally went off duty, she was ready to depart as well and dart through the open doors at the last second, hearing them hiss shut after her.

"Engineering," Data called, hands clasped behind his back where he stood calmly at the side of the lift. He glanced over at her.

It took Tasha a moment to register he was expecting her to call her own destination. Fumbling over her thoughts she stammered out the first thing that came to mind.

Obediently, the turbolift whirred into action. As it descended, Tasha felt as if she were sinking with it.

She couldn't do this.

Standing this close to him and finding her mouth dry and all the carefully worded conversations she'd practiced in her head long fled, it felt like an impossibility.

Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe then she'd find the courage, and she could speak anything other than the old lie she'd clung to hour after hour since the wreckage of her own mistake, that it _never happened_…

And maybe she'd stand in the turbolift that day too, and tell herself the same thing.

"You wished to speak to me, Lieutenant?"

Tasha's head jerked up. Data still stood exactly as he had, the only difference was the slight arch of his eyebrows. Light curiosity, if Tasha had to put a name to the expression, but how much of what Data did with his face was indicative of what his positronic brain was actually doing was up for debate.

"What makes you say that?" she asked warily.

"Given my analysis of your recent behavior, I believe that under normal circumstances you would choose to wait until I had departed before using the turbolift. Since you have instead opted to accompany me, I must conclude that you have a reason for breaking this pattern. Is it because you have something you wish to discuss?"

Foolish indeed to think Data oblivious...

He must have noticed every little detail, measured every one of their interactions against the earlier ones before… well, _before_. Exactly what kind of theories had he built on the sudden distance she'd placed between them? Did he think she was angry? That she blamed him? And yet still, he'd never asked, never questioned it once… because just like then, she'd told him to do what benefitted her.

She'd told him 'it never happened', and Data, bless his infuriatingly compliant nature, had taken that statement to heart and proceeded to continue his life as if nothing had transpired, with far more success than Tasha was capable of.

She closed her eyes for a second. Drew a breath through her nose and let it out passed her teeth.

"Halt turbolift," Tasha said, and returned her focus to the android.

"I did," she told him, "have something I wanted to talk about."

The admission had little effect on him, a blink and a faint incline of the head to indicate he had heard and was suitably interested in whatever she had to say. After a few moments of her staring he unfolded his hands from behind his back, letting them rest at his side instead. "Can I be of help, Lieutenant?"

His words were all she needed to kick herself back into action.

She shook her head, clearing her throat in an awkward attempt to find her voice. "Just Tasha is fine, we're off duty, and… well, actually I just wanted to… I thought… it's about _then_, okay?"  
That appeared to spark a gleam of recognition in his eyes. "Ah, you mean when we engaged in-"

"Yes, that," Tasha cut him off before he could spell it out. "I just… don't think I was clear about a lot of things. I…"

She wavered again, uncertain where to start. She didn't understand how Troi could unravel a problem one thread at a time, pulling and tugging and guiding a conversation until it was lain bare, not spitting it out like an ugly weight to be discarded. That delicacy simply wasn't her.

Tasha bit her lip. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, reconsidered, and started again.

"Data," she said, "you don't actually feel any kind of attraction, do you? Romantic or sexual?"

He tilted his head. "That is correct. Desire is an emotion, and beyond my capabilities."

"Can you want anything at all?"

"I am capable of having goals, or preferred outcomes based upon what I calculate the end results to be, which would be a close enough approximation. I do, after all, 'want' to become human, in as much as is feasible."

"But you're not attracted to me? At all?"

"No, Lieutenant," he said plainly. He paused, then, and continued. "Which is not to say that you are not physically attractive when rated on a human scale with values attributed to certain features and their relative positioning. Symmetrically you are-"

Tasha held up a hand to stall him. "Data, it's fine. I'm not offended, I just want to be sure I understand you."

The android appeared to absorb this. "Oh," he said, in the same light and mildly puzzled tone he often used when people corrected him unexpectedly. He tipped his head to the side and blinked, waiting expectantly. Probably he anticipated she had more to say. Probably, he was right.

Tasha took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this at all. She wanted to go down to the holodeck and throw some projections to the mat until she was battered and exhausted and numb to everything screaming in her head. Worf would understand. Or maybe not - would he call her a coward, frightened of a little conversation when it was what honor demanded?

She'd been a coward the first time. All she'd left him with was a denial - no explanation, no way to understand, no point of reference. She couldn't run again.

Gritting her teeth she squared her shoulders and forced the words out before she could think of another excuse. "I shouldn't have asked what I did of you. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have. I regret it. I'm ashamed of it." She paused only to draw air. "I used you when you got nothing in return, and told you 'it never happened' because that was what I wanted to pretend. And… I'm sorry."

Then, at last, it was spoken. If she was expecting a wave of relief it never came. Data blinked back at her, and his eyes flickered to the side rapidly while Tasha stood in the turbolift and wondered why the space suddenly felt so small, with only the quiet hum of the ship to fill the silence.

Anger she could spit back at, or misery she could comfort, but she didn't know what to do when it felt as if her words were being dissected with analytical dispassion. Had she said them as clearly as she intended, as sincere? She wished, fleetingly, that she could snatch them back.

When Data's yellow eyes settled on her at last, he lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. "So I was in error," he said. "I should not have accepted?"

"No. Yes. It's… complicated." Tasha cursed how pitiful that sounded. Ambiguous answerer were not the way to go. "The virus messed us both up. I'm not mad at you, but I do wish it hadn't happened. And for future reference, definitely say no if someone else is intoxicated."

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "If it will make you feel better, I can delete the event from my memory."

Tasha stared at him. It took her several seconds to speak. "You can... do that?"

"Of course. My memory _is_ digital."

Were it anyone else, Tasha would have considered the remark to be dry, but Data was entirely literal and stating nothing more than fact. She wondered what it was like, having a memory like that. All neatly ordered in perfect clarity, so easily purged of any unpleasantry.

When she was younger, Tasha would have given anything for such a gift.

Ignoring the tightening of her throat, she forced herself to focus on the android.

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "Do you want to forget?"

"No. However, if it will make you happier-"

"This isn't about me, Data, it's about what _you_ want."

He frowned. His lips drew tight. Somewhere in that head, thousands of calculations were taking place, and Tasha wondered why it was that he could determine warp speed velocity instantaneously, but lingered over such a simple statement with an air of uncertainty, like it were uncharted territory.

How often did people ask what an android wanted? How often before the Enterprise had they taken for granted Data's contentment to attend their own wishes, because he was always so damned accommodating? A being with no ambition, no greed, no resentment, no fear… maybe it never occurred to them that he was capable of a preference. Some people would look and choose to see only a machine.

Her throat felt tight again.

It was several seconds before Data settled on a response, and his face smoothed into a more neutral expression. He shifted his posture slightly, a minor adjustment that angled him closer toward her even if he left the width of the turbolift respectfully between them.

"Tasha. You claimed that I 'got nothing' in return," he said evenly. "I do not believe that to be an accurate assessment. I may be incapable of desire, or pleasure, but I possess a certain curiocity, a drive to learn, and I believe that night to have been… informative."

Tasha found her gaze set on the ground, far safer than the android's direction. She let out a sigh.

"Then keep it," she told him with firmness. If there was some value to be found in the memory, something to be gained from the whole wretched mess, she wasn't cruel enough to take it from him, not for her own selfishness. He deserved better than that.

"Thank you."

Tasha's head snapped back up. Her laugh was as bitter as it was short. "God, don't thank me, I'm supposed to be apologizing to you. I used you, Data, do you understand that?" she demanded, searching his yellow eyes for any kind of recognition, anything to let her know it was more than just a string of words and syllables to him. "I didn't think it would mean anything to you, so I tried to take something because I could get what I wanted without having to deal with… without someone else trying to take something from me. That's not okay. Even if I wasn't thinking straight, that _wasn't_ okay!"

Data remained unphased. "You perceived an exchange that was not mutually beneficial and regret that you did not reconsider. As I have already stated, though, I do not feel 'short changed'," he said, and yes, he was checking her reaction carefully to see if he had used the phrase correctly. "Nor do I believe you were in a state to reconsider, given your intoxication. An apology is unnecessary. I _do_ comprehend the logic behind your conclusion though even if I disagree in this particular instance."

He stood patiently, awaiting her response.

Always so polite, so calm in contrast to her own chaotic string of emotions. Sometimes it was comforting, sometimes it was infuriating. Yet what else could she expect from him? He didn't deal with problems the messy, human way. No, he approached them logically, step by step, collecting as much information as he could before proceeding down whatever course of action he deemed most likely to alleviate the negative consequences of the 'problem' he faced.

So here she was, listening to him and praying that that 'problem' was not _only_ her emotional distress. Did he say what he did to assure her out of pre-programmed altruism, or was it genuine? Would he lie purely for her own benefit? Why was she so determined to believe he might, rather than accepting that he had grasped her meaning, and had still calculated no blame on her part? Did she hate herself that much, must she force him to her own line of thinking before she was satisfied? All of this, to validate her own feelings and enact a punishment upon herself that would ease her conscience… and it struck her, suddenly, how selfish that was.

Tasha bit her lip, but did not look away.

She was thinking about this wrong.

An explanation had been what she owed him, that was all. There was no other courtesy she could extend that would matter to someone so completely impartial. Everything that followed was for her own sake, for her stupid, guilt ridden, empathic human brain.

Forgiveness was a moot point. Data would always forgive her because he was incapable of holding a grudge. She had explained her stance as clearly as possible, to the best of her ability, and he had told her quite plainly that he comprehended her meaning.

Yet could it really be that simple?

Staring back at him Tasha searched his face for anything she could read. "You understand?"

Data nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

"Then you… get why I feel the way I do?"

"I believe so. Theoretically, at least."

Emotions were all theory to Data. Still, he seemed confident in his assertion, and she could think of no way to refute it. Troi was right about one thing - he was intelligent. Maybe the complexities that _feeling_ brought to the table were lost on him, but perhaps he grasped enough, enough to count.

That was all she could hope for.

Things were not magically fixed. Old wounds still stung with the freshness of recent days, and the familiar shadow of self-loathing lurked at the edges of her consciousness, but Tasha had not expected them to disappear. They would never disappear. They could dull though, one day at a time, and this day… this moment, felt like a step in the right direction. No longer stagnating in a mess that was already created but tidying away the wreckage, patching what was broken even if it would still bare a mark. It was a start.

She leaned back against the wall of the turbolift, running a hand through the short shocks of her blonde hair. The motion steadied her. "This won't… change anything between us, will it? I'd like it if we could continue as if nothing happened…" Tasha winced, immediately regretting her wording. She held up a finger in a signal for pause until she collected herself. "I don't mean like before, with me avoiding you and acting strictly professional, but… but a fresh start. Who knows, maybe we could be friends?"

Data smiled. Not a big smile, because Data never did big smiles, but a slight upward tweak of the lips, just enough to indicate something might have met his satisfaction.

"I would like that too, Tasha," he said.

She took a deep breath. When she managed to look back at him, it was with a smile of her own. "You know, what you choose to do in your own time is your business, but if anyone else ever asks you for something like that again and you're uncertain, for whatever reason, you can talk to me, alright? You don't owe anyone anything."

"I will keep that in mind." He cocked his head to the side. "May we restart the turbolift?"

The abruptness of the question caught her off guard. If it were anyone else Tasha might have called it rude, but Data's occasional bluntness never came with any bite. Likely he had calculated their conversation to be at an end and saw no point in delay.

Rather than answering she simply ordered the turbolift to resume. "In a hurry?"

"Not as such. However, I agreed to meet Lieutenant La Forge after my shift today," the android said. Despite the calmness of his tone, she wondered if there was a hint of eagerness hidden somewhere in there.

Tasha quirked an eyebrow. "Geordi? What's he got planned?"

Data visibly brightened. "He raised the subject of creativity as a means of human expression. It was his supposition that in my own exploration of human behavior, it would be interesting to discover if I am similarly capable of such a feat. He suggested painting."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to picture him in front of a canvas with brush held pensively aloft, and failing. She was fairly confident Geordi had no experience with paint himself, so how exactly he expected this to result in anything but a massive, paint-stained disaster she didn't know, but maybe that was the point… to try something new with a friend for the sake of it. The outcome was not as important as the offer itself.

"You want to paint?" she asked him.

"I am curious to see what the result will be," he admitted. "While I have an understanding of the fundamentals, and the artistic styles popular in various cultures throughout recent history, it is not something I have ever attempted before."

It was becoming frequently apparent that there were a lot of things the android hadn't attempted before, and she thought with a tinge of bitterness of why it was that in over two decades, no one had bothered to suggest such activities.

Maybe someday, when she was ready, she would ask him to join her in the dojo, or see if parrises squares took his interest as much as art. Or perhaps they could both fail spectacularly at dancing and find common ground there... and the memories would be warm, and easy, and the ones still seared in the back of her head wouldn't matter quite so much.

But for now, Tasha settled for an encouraging grin. "I'm sure you'll be a proper Picasso in no time."

Data sent her a puzzled look, but she was spared the need for clarification as the turbolift arrived at her floor, and she decided Geordi could explain her meaning if necessary.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, with a ghost of a wave as she stepped out. He mirrored the gesture hesitantly.

For a second he stood almost like a silhouette, dark against the turbolift's lights despite the paleness of his skin. His uniform was crisp, his hair smoothed back with impeccable precision, an expression on his face that only sought to mimic her own polite farewell.

Then the doors swept closed and he was gone, and Tasha was alone again, the last traces of her smile slowly slipping away. The corridor lay open but she lingered.

Was it happiness she should be feeling now? A level of contentment? Things still stirred in her chest, restless and uncertain. They were quieter though, echoes of an earlier cacophony that had come in waves fit to drown her… whispers, now, like old friends reacquainted.

She felt lighter.

Data would paint pictures with Geordi, and practice jokes he could never land the punchlines for, and trawl through any database he found with the same insatiable thirst for knowledge, completely untroubled and as free as he deserved. And Tasha would run through Aikido drills until she ached, and count down the days until her next appointment with Troi… and maybe it wasn't perfect, but maybe it was still okay for a little while…

She had done what needed to be done, what was _right_, and the rest was only a matter of time.


End file.
